


One tiny little pin

by lovestowrite238



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Bromance, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e05 A Novel Approach, Hurt, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s05e05 A Novel Approach, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Bromance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-23 04:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestowrite238/pseuds/lovestowrite238
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU for episode 5x5, a novel Approach</p><p>What if the events at the library had not happened quite the way they did?<br/>What if the one trapped underneath the scaffolding wasn’t Donovan, but Stiles?<br/>What if Stiles was on the verge of death?<br/>What if?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Library

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first AU-story.  
> The library scene always has me creeped out, and i felt I had to do something with it.  
> Let me know what you think! This story will have a number of chapters, we'll see where it leads. :)

**Chapter 1: The Library**

It’s freezing cold at the library. Ridiculously enough, that’s what Stiles thinks when he uses his key card and flees inside, realizing at the same time he goes in, that is the stupidest thing to do. He should have run further down the road and not trap himself inside a room with only one way in or out.

He should have knocked on doors of houses, should have found another escape route than the one he just chose. He could have saved himself then, running as fast as he could, away from Donovan. He instinctively knows the moment the library door unlocks for the second time, that he made a big mistake. He’s inside the library, with Donovan, without help. Not a single soul knows he’s in danger. Nobody even realizes that Donovan has come after him.

And he lost his phone, that, he realizes the moment his trembling fingers touch his pocket, automatically going for the one object that could help him. He can’t call anyone, can’t warn people about what’s happening to him. Nobody even knows he’s here, except for Malia, who left when he fall asleep on top of his books.

He’s all alone, horrified that he’s once more the victim of supernatural beings in this crazy, little town. He needs to be quiet. So very, very quiet. So very still. Every single breath will be detected by Donovan, every syllable he utters, cry he makes, move he takes, will be punished.

Donovan is right there, standing in the middle of the room, calling him out, taunting him, waving the one object that could have saved him. Stiles is horrified, so very, very scared. He has already felt so lonely over the past weeks, ever since Theo came along, and this feeling is now amplified by tonight’s events.

The bite on his shoulder stings so badly, he has to fight off the dizziness that overwhelms him. He feels like he could pass out at any moment. It’s the adrenaline that kicks in, which keeps him alert and awake. Without that sensation running through him, he would have surely already be gone. A second bite off Donovan’s freaky hand, placed against his throat or in his face, could and would be fatal.

‘Lost your phone?’ Donovan’s cold, eerie voice resounds through the empty building. Darkness overcomes them. The only light inside is the one the crescent moon sheds. There are no full moons tonight. Creatures such as Donovan don’t need them to kill. He knows now what this Chimera is: A wendigo. A flesh-eating cannibal, one who lusts after warm human bodies, needing them quench his thirst.

Donovan wants Stiles. He wants him alive, only to end it. Or to destroy it in a way that might be worse than death. Utterly cold fear overtakes Stiles. He has never felt this scared in his life. This is on the same level as being trapped inside a dark space with a Nogitsune. This is just as much a hell. He is so, so scared.

Stiles nearly bumped into the scaffolds before. The entire place smells like paint. He sees equipment all around, white sheets with paint and dirt thrown all over the steel. He has seen the workmen before, when he was searching through the books, looking for answers. He had wanted to help Lydia, he had wanted to help the pack. And now the pack doesn’t even know he’s in mortal danger. Or worse.

And it’s cold. So cold. He feels the cold brush past his face and numb his hands. It makes his shoulder ache so much he knows he won’t forget that sensation easily. The bite feels like a second degree burn, blistering skin and burning holes right through his flesh. He frantically wants to take a look at it but know he can’t. He’ll have to wait to get that patched up. For a moment he’s mortified, believing the bite will turn him. But he read in the bestiary a long time ago, that Wendigo’s don’t turn humans. They just kill them, eat them, devour them hungrily. They always crave for food.

Stiles saw it when he was attacked and grabbed by Donovan during his attempts to bite him for the second time. The palm of that hand, so gruesome, put an ache through him that patients suffering from the flesh eating bacteria must feel.

He still shivers at the very memory of it. He can’t stand blood, is mortified at the very thought someone gruesome will happen to someone else. He passed out when Scott had his tattoo. He can’t even fix a broken finger if his life would depend on it. He’s nauseated. And oh so petrified.

He knows he’ll carry tonight with him for the rest of his life. It was worse than witnessing Scott’s angry attacks during his first full moons, worse than his best friend’s attempts to kill him when he couldn’t control himself. It was even worse than the Nogitsune’s mouth, talking to him through iron teeth. The corpse spoke through him using illusions and hallucinations. This is real. He’ll carry the scar of this fight for the rest of his life. He just knows it. He’ll always see some of it left once his shoulder heals.

‘I know you can hear me,’ Donovan mocks him, explaining to him why he’s doing this. Telling him about his own father’s accident, about Stiles’ dad’s role in it. He’s taunting him about the sheriff, falling him a coward. It’s not Stilinski’s fault this is happening. Stiles knows his dad is a good man, he’ll defend him until the day he dies. He refuses to listen to Donovan’s accusations. But deep inside, he also knows that the sheriff really _is_ the reason why this is happening. It’s not the Dread Doctor’s fault, it’s not Donovan’s Chimera turn that made him evil. It’s the past that they share, their fathers’ bonds. He even feels sorry for Donovan for a few seconds.

Slowly, keeping his panic and breath very still, Stiles leans against a rack filled with books, trying to listen to Donovan who is out of his vision. He counts the steps to the door. He can make it in fifteen large steps, running of course, not walking. He can slam the door behind him, lock Donovan in and then take off. He has done things like this before. He has experience with escaping the enemy.

Fifteen steps. Fifteen steps to save himself. It doesn’t seem that hard. He can do it. He just has to keep himself together, wait for the best moment to sprint and take off like a rocket. Donovan may be a Chimera, he’s only still just a teenager. He can’t be _that_ fast.

Stiles hasn’t said a single word since all of this started and he won’t. His brain is figuring his way out, without Scott, Malia or Liam there to protect him. He’s scared to death. And death is what is waiting for him, if he doesn’t start running _now._

He moves forward just an inch. And then Donovan’s hand pulls him backwards against the rack, literally shoving him against the wood in full force, against piles of books and the hard wood, hurting his back and shoulder in the process.

For a moment, the memory of them writing their initials on one of the shelves, pops up. It was the same night they first saw Theo. And Stiles knows. He _knows_ Theo is the cause of this, somehow. He just needs to figure out how.

Donovan and Stiles both end up on the ground, covered by books and wood and paper. They fight, Stiles trying to get the Chimera off of him, while Donovan remains determined to eat his legs. And then the rest of him.

 _No_ , something screams inside of him. _No!_ He can’t allow for this to happen! He has to fight back, _fight_ for what he’s worth. He thinks of his dad, knowing he won’t survive if he winds up dead. He’ll never forgive himself for not being able to protect his son.

He thinks of Scott, knowing his best friend will fight until his final breath to figure out what has happened to him. He has to see Kira, to tell her to take care of Scott when he’s gone. He thinks of Liam, so young and innocent in so many ways, while battling with his werewolf abilities at the same time. He needs to talk to Malia, tell her so many things he has never told her, never took the time to say. And he has to see Lydia before he dies.

Poor Lydia, who he was too scared to visit, horrified still at the sight of her lying on the ground with a wound that could have made her bleed to death. He had been paralysed just staring at her, feeling so guilty afterwards that he hadn’t made a move to save her. He knows she’s going to be fine, and that comforts him now. But he doesn’t want to die without seeing her one last time. And he knows that’s going to happen. He’s going to die.

_No! Not yet! Not like this!_

He fights for his life, struggles against Donovan, uses his elbow to knock the wind right out of the Chimera, crawls up the scaffolding and reaches for the pin. And then Donovan grabs onto his legs, pulling him downwards so hard he has no chance to crawl into safety. The Chimera is stronger than he is, his hands clawing at his legs.

Through his trousers, Stiles feels the hand burn into his skin, flesh and bone for the second time that night. He screams out loud when Donovan connects with his right lower leg, literally cutting right into him.

Stiles cries out and loses his balance, falling off the scaffold. He falls past Donovan, his hands struggling to find something to hold on to, but there’s nothing. He connects with the floor, the back of his head hitting it hard. Donovan is halfway up the scaffold, still holding on with those crazy, creepy hands, looking down at him with such a harsh look in his eyes, it terrifies Stiles. But there’s nothing he can do. He’s lying dazed and confused on the ground, feeling so cold, so numb and aching so much.

He watches as Donovan pulls the tiny pin right above him, in a whim. The next moment, the scaffolding comes down, past Donovan, heading straight towards him. Stiles wills himself towards safety, but his body won’t react. Everything that was standing upright, is crashing down on him. His shoulder aches, his leg burns and his mind simply isn’t able to connect with his body. Something hits him hard. Something numbs him, paralyses him, stabs him and hurts him so hard his body is sent into a state of shock immediately.

And then he feels absolutely nothing. The darkness comes fast and takes him away for a blessed sleep.

______

At Beacon Memorial, Lydia shoots upright on her bed, screaming loudly as she does. A nurse hurries into the room and stares shocked at her patient whose eyes are wide open and very, very scared. Lydia’s hands are wringed together, tears flow down her face.

‘Stiles,’ Lydia whispers hoarsely. ‘Stiles needs me. I have to go _now_.’

The next moment she’s out of her bed, struggling to find her phone, despite the nurse’s failing attempts to stop her. But Lydia’s not listening. She’s calling the one person Stiles needs right now.

 _‘Hello?_ ’ Stilinski’s voice wearily, sleepily resounds.

 

To be continued


	2. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the nice comments, kudos and bookmarks! I completed this story today, so will be posting often!

**Chapter 2: Gone**

It’s deadly quiet at the library.

That’s the first thing Stiles becomes slowly aware of when he opens his eyes and finds nothing but darkness surrounding him. He’s trapped in it, suffocated by it. He feels awful. That’s an understatement, to say the least. He feels as if he’s already dead.

The numbness that settled into his body, is quickly replaced by a sense of ice cold dread. His body is trapped by it, dying because of it. Blood pastes him to the ground like glue. His shirt and light sweater are drenched in it. His hands come back sticky when he moves them from his abdomen to his side and back. He’s shivering. He’s not in pain. He knows that that is not a good thing. Pain means you’re alive, no more pain means you’re slowly dying.

He doesn’t see a damn thing. Steel, wood and rusty iron are all around him, covering him like an eerie, smelly tombstone. It feels like he’s being buried alive. It is pitch black, so scarily dark he has to fight not to scream out in pure fear.

A heavy weight is pushed on top of him, trapping his legs and lower abdomen. He coughs as dust settles down on him like a foggy cloud of mist. His bloody hands touch his surroundings, realizing he was in luck, despite his bad luck. The steel has contained him, but despite from his trapped legs, his body is being contained somehow in a protective shell.

He tries to relax, to focus on his breathing, but he’s so very afraid. Donovan is gone. He can sense it. He knows he’s alone. Donovan probably thinks he’s dead, taking off when he realized he couldn’t reach for his body anymore as he was trapped underneath lots of steel.

_You can make it, Stiles._

Stiles’ mind becomes focused on what he can and cannot do. He tries to block out the fact he’s probably bleeding to death and concentrates on getting out of here alive. He’s still breathing, he can still move his arms and still has feeling in his legs and abdomen. He’s not paralysed.

He reaches out his hands as far as he can to touch his legs, searching for injuries. His relief is large when he realizes he has no major injuries there. There are no large wounds bleeding him out, no arteries nicked.

But then, as he tries to check out the rest of him, trying to figure out where the blood comes from, he starts panicking. He feels something pinning him down to the ground, something embedded in him on his left side, right below his ribcage.

He cries out while his hands touch whatever it is that is holding him down. His slender fingers touch for it, feels the edges of it. He almost bites his tongue off when he realizes that it’s a thin iron bar, most likely with a sharp pin, which went right through him.

The bar went right through skin, flesh and muscle, shoved into him with a tremendous force, almost at the exact same spot Lydia had been hurt by Tracy. Oh irony. He was here to find info on the Dread Doctors, to stop them from hurting anyone else, from preventing Lydia to ever get hurt again. And this is now going to kill him.

No one knows he’s here. He’s by himself, without a single soul even realizing what is going on. He instinctively tries to pull at the bar, only to stop when he comes to realize he can’t get it out by himself. And even if he does, he might wind up killing himself in the process. Blood is already dripping out of him, he has no idea how long he has been out or how long he’s been bleeding.

Panic surges through him, realizing he’s in deep, deep shit. Stiles cries out, but even that hurts like hell. Every single movement, thought or gesture hurts like it’s going to be the end of it. His shoulder is killing him. His leg is burning.

He’s dead. He must be. This is a living hell. This is not happening.

But it is. He’s alone, trapped, hurting, aching, dying. In the morning they’ll find his body here. They’ll try to figure out what happened to him. They’ll see he was stupid to stay at the library alone, must have been acting brave like only teenagers do, must have climbed up the scaffolding to challenge fate, must have somehow done this to himself as he fell down and trapped himself.

Nobody will ever know Donovan killed him.

‘Please,’ he whispers, ‘someone find me. Someone, please.’

He hears his own phone ringing. Somewhere, not so far from him, his phone is chanting, mocking him. He know he can’t reach it. He never will.

He hurts so badly he just wants to return to the darkness, but his strong mind refuses to send him back there. So he stays awake, aware all too well of the trauma he’s going through. Until he finally gives into his grief, realizing there won’t be anyone to save him. He’s literally stuck here, trapped in his mind and trapped in his body.

_I’m gone._


	3. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what nice reactions I received about this story! I'm really, really honoured! Thank you so much! I'll continue to post frequently :)

**Chapter 3: Help**

Time seems to pass by slowly. Stiles counts numbers in his head, as it’s the only thing he can do to stay alert. _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 80, 120, 500, 684._ He tries to forget his fingers are aching by now, as the pressure in his shoulder becomes almost too hard to bear. His right leg is killing him, he can just imagine the bite on it and what it must look like.

He tries ignore the fact he’s been impaled, that it will most likely be his dad who will see him like this, lying dead on the ground, with an iron bar sticking through him. It will be the last sight he will have of him, of the son who is the only one left in his life. His dad will be so devastated, he will be so sad. He won’t survive this.

_No, you can’t die! All you need to do is wait until the morning. Hold on until then. Wait until someone comes in, unlocks the library door and finds you. Put pressure on the wound, make it stop bleeding._

His hands instinctively reach for the bar. He wills himself to place his left hand on his back, holding it there around the iron without touching it. His right hand, with the aching fingers, he places on top of his side, touching the entrance of the bar.

He passes out when people are hurt. But he can’t afford to pass out here, not when he has to stop his own bleeding. Stiles switches to songs, recounting lyrics inside his head he didn’t know he had. Dozens of songs go through his mind, and he hums softly, forcing his mind to stay alert.

_Someone._

It must be way past midnight by now. Has this dad already discovered he’s gone? Has someone noticed he’s not answering his phone that keeps ringing off the hook? Someone must know something’s off. Malia could return to the library once she notices he isn’t showing up. A cop might find it odd that his jeep, still with the hood open, has been standing on the parking lot for some time.

_Someone._

He hears a sound. A click, another sound, someone pushing at the library door. Voices. Footsteps come running in. _Several_ footsteps are rushing in!

‘ _Help. Help. Someone._ ’ His voice is so quiet he knows they won’t be able to hear him. Not with regular hearing, not when he’s covered by debris and steel. His hand reaches to the left, letting go of the wound in order to bang against the steel trapping him on the left. His hand is barely touching it, he knows it’s futile to reach out.

_Someone!_

‘Someone.’ He hears himself say. ‘Someone help me.’

And someone replies, hearing him with sharp ears. ‘Stiles? Stiles, can you hear me?’

A deep rushing surge of relief floats through Stiles. He almost passes out from sheer joy. It’s _Scott_. Scott rushing towards the debris, calling out his name over and over again.

‘Stiles, can you hear me? Say something so I know you’re okay.’

‘Scott. I’m here.’ Stiles’ weak voice hardly pushes through the rubble but he knows it’s enough to alert his best friend, to let him know he’s not dead.

‘Stiles, I can hear you,’ his best friend cries out. He pulls at a large steel beam that is holding the rubble together, until it moves, sliding aside so he can take a peek inside, trying to find Stiles. The slightest movement however, makes the whole rampage unbalanced.

‘No,’ Stiles whispers. ‘Don’t touch it, Scott. You’ll take it all down.’

‘Hang on, Stiles. Just hang on, we’re all here, we’ll help you,’ Scott vows. Stiles knows his best friend will take care of it. He’ll take the lead, guide him through this. But he’s just one man, one Alpha.

Only then Stiles realizes Scott is not alone. He brought plenty of others. Stiles suddenly hears the distant sound of sirens, many of them, approaching right outside the big library window. He pretends to see their blue lights, even though he knows he can’t. More footsteps come in, people have gathered to find and help him. People who care about what happens to him. The loneliness he has felt for a while, is being replaced by an eager yearning towards friendly folk.

‘Scott, I’m in trouble.’ His voice is soft again. ‘I’m – it’s bad, Scott.’

His friend doesn’t react but Stiles knows he heard.

‘He’s alive,’ he hears people say to each other, beyond the wood and iron, burying him like it were a grave. In the darkness Stiles looks up, staring at what remains of the scaffold. He wills himself to stay alert, to guide them towards him, if needs be.

‘Stiles, we’re all here,’ Scott calls out. ‘Your dad’s here too, he brought lots of help. We’re going to get you out, okay? Just hold still, we’re going to remove the rubble above you first, we’ll work our way through. Are you hurting?’

‘Everywhere,’ Stiles mutters dazed.

That alerts Scott immediately, as he talks to the gathered crowd.

‘Just lie still, we’re going to try and remove as much as we can to get to you, okay? Hold on, Stiles.’

Stiles cries silent tears, oh so grateful he’s not alone anymore. But he needs to know what happened, why they’re here, so close to midnight.

‘How did you -?’

‘Lydia.’

That’s all Scott says, but it’s enough for Stiles. And it also frightens him to the core. Lydia is a harbinger of death, predicting it. If she dreamt about him, if she knew he was going to die, chances are he still might do so.

‘Scott, I’m –‘. Stiles stops as pain cuts through him badly he cries out from the pure force of it. Instantly he hears his dad, and he realizes that he must have cried out loud this time, enough for all of them to hear him. He tries to bite his lip, to hold in the sharp cry of pain, but knows he can’t. His hands tremble instantly, releasing the wounds, flailing as they seek out help.

It’s excruciating knowing that he is so close to being rescued, yet has to wait for such a long time to come.

He hears loud sounds, people removing the debris all around him. The steel starts to move above him, sliding sounds as the large steel bars are being pulled away slowly. Some people pull, others coordinate. They know they have no choice but to remove it all.

‘Stiles!’ He hears his dad shout as soon as there are openings between the debris. ‘Hold on, son. We’re getting you out _right now_.’

Stiles hears Scott’s voice as he helps, using his strength without making it appear as he’s a superhuman.

‘He’s hurt,’ Scott whispers to the sheriff who stands close to him without being able to touch his son yet. ‘I can smell the blood.’

‘How bad?’ His dad asks.

‘Bad.’

Stiles knows Scott can scent the coming of death. He can smell illness, fever and of course blood. He always says blood betrays the state of the human he’s smelling. At this moment, Stiles doesn’t want to think about what he must smell like.

He is afraid to even think about what he must _look_ like. But he has no time to think anymore. Noise spreads all around him, surrounding him. They are working through the pile of steel, removing it with joined efforts bar by bar, steel by steel. It won’t take long before they’ll reach him now, the work goes very fast.

Stiles looks up in the darkness until his eyes hurt. Then he closes them, softly humming songs as he listens to the sounds of people removing the iron bars and wood all around him. They’re coordinating each other, helping each other out, while more people seem to come in all the time. He hears a lot of sirens now, more coming. The town’s strong support has gathered to help him.

And then, all of a sudden, he sees bright light above him, shining through the steel. Someone has switched on the library lights. Other people are taking away the steel and the wooden board right above him. He sees faces now. He stares at his saviours, watching their slow motion moves as they make their way towards him.

And then most of it is gone and he’s visible from above, the left and the side. Some bars are still covering his legs and abdomen, as they are gently working their way towards him, but the immediate danger of being trapped, is over.

And then he hears, ‘Oh shit. Oh god. _Stiles!_ ’

His dad’s voice breaks once he reaches his son, to see what is really going on. Stiles looks aside and sees Scott and his dad, both staring at him with sudden fear and comprehension in their eyes. He actually sees himself reflected through their fear, realizing immediately that it’s much worse than he thought.

Jordan Parrish is there too, alongside a lot of deputies. People from the fire department, strangers he doesn’t know, are eying him. He hears whispers, people asking what they need to do. He hears more sirens, more people coming to help. It’s almost as if the whole of Beacon Hills has gathered here.

He sees Kira, Malia and _Lydia_. Oh god, Lydia is here too, trembling on her weak legs, staring at him with such fright he knows it’s really, really bad. Malia is in complete shock as Kira holds her back, telling her she can’t do much at this moment. Stiles wants to close his eyes and forget it all, retreating within himself, but he can’t. He won’t.

‘Dad.’ He stretches out his left hand. His dad grabs it, squeezing his left fingers tight, ignoring the blood that is all over his son and now on him. People move to his right side, pushing loads of white cloth, piled in stacks, on the entry and exit wound. Within a few seconds, they all turn crimson red. Stiles knows the floor has his blood all over it.

‘Stiles,’ his dad says, his voice breaking. ‘We’re here, son. We’re going to help you. You’re going to be fine, I promise. I won’t leave you. You’ll be _fine._ ’ He tries not to stare at the wounds his son has, swallowing away his urgency to scream at the aids to save him. He doesn’t want to alarm Stiles, that’s for sure.

‘Dad, it hurts,’ he whispers, unable to move.

‘I know, son,’ his dad replies. Then he’s pushed aside by people from the fire department and EMT’s, surrounding Stiles like a comforting blanket, taking over to save him.

With the bright lights around him hurting his eyes, Stiles for the first time has the chance to see what really happened to him. While they work on him, he lifts his aching head briefly, catching a glimpse of himself. His legs are still trapped under wood and steel, but they are slowly removing that, making sure he isn’t pinned down by anything there. His lower body still hurts.

His arms ache, his shoulder stings, his calf feels like it is being burned from the inside out. He knows that Donovan’s bites will hurt for a long time to come.

But it’s not that which finally sends him over the edge of fear. Stiles’ eyes catch a glimpse of what has really happened to him. The shock as he realizes that the thin bar impaling him, has fallen with such a speed straight into him, that the sharp pin is not only protruding his body. It went right through him, embedding itself into the tiled floor with such force that it literally broke the tile in half right underneath him, to settle at long last within stone. They will have to cut through concrete to get him out.

And Stiles completely panics.

 


	4. Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> see chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thanks so much for the nice comments and the many kudos and followers!   
> On with the show ...

**Chapter 4: Shock**

It was Lydia’s concerned, panicking voice that alerted the sheriff immediately. He had had a long, tiresome day with a lot of things going on at the same time. There was Lydia’s surgery after Tracy’s attack, for one. And the Chimera’s, the many deaths in his town he had to deal with. He was just about to go home, ready to call it a night.

Until she called and immediately sat him upright. He hadn’t spoken to Stiles since he last saw him at the sheriff’s station. He knew Stiles could take care of himself, but sometimes he forgot that his son was in fact the only human in the pack. He still has to get used to the fact that all of his friends seemed to have abilities of some sort. And on the other hand, he almost believed Stiles was supernatural too. Which he wasn’t. He was just a kid who could get hurt at any time.

When he heard Lydia’s frantic voice that something was going on, he knew he had to take it seriously. The werewolves are pretty clear, but a Kitsune and a Banshee are things he still needs to get used to. The fact that she predicted death in some strange way she couldn’t explain for herself, troubled the sheriff deeply.

Experience however taught him not to take Lydia lightly. He has seen her rush into the sheriff’s station, basically saving his and her mother’s life. It had nearly cost her her own. She had cared for Tracy, had felt sorry for her, even with a hole in her abdomen. He had sent Parrish over to guard her room, until he reassured him she was doing fine.

He knows what the girl can do, what she’s capable of when she’s focused and alert. So when she called from her hospital room, totally panicking because something was happening to Stiles, he literally dropped everything.

‘Where?’ he heard himself grunt in the phone, instantly alarmed while he tried to reach Stiles by phone, instinctively knowing he wouldn’t be able to get a hold onto his son. Why hadn’t he sensed this himself? He felt anger. For so many nights he had felt guilty about Stiles, about the lack of attention he gave to his son. Lately Stiles had been off, somehow disconnected to everyone. Stiles thought his dad hadn’t noticed, but he had. He had just been too preoccupied to do something about it.

‘The library. It’s bad. It’s _now_. You have to bring a lot of people with you, he’s trapped somehow. I can’t see what it is, a whole bunch of wood and steel, it doesn’t make any sense, _I know_. Get all the help you can. Every second counts.’

That’s all Lydia said, but it was enough to nearly send the sheriff into a frantic state. He gathered all the troops he had, calling the fire department too at the same time, alerting all of his deputies to head towards the library immediately. He ordered Parrish to call Scott and Malia, hoping and praying Lydia was completely off and Stiles was with one of them. But he wasn’t. Stiles was missing.

It was Malia who said matter-of-fact she had left Stiles at the library, asleep over some books. ‘He was going to meet me at home later. Why, what’s wrong?’ Her confirmation he was last seen there, was enough to drive the sheriff crazy with fear.

Parrish explained what Lydia had said. Then, on a whim, the deputy drove like crazy to the hospital, where he found Lydia very upset, fully dressed checking herself out. It was as if she knew he would come, because she turned, practically begging him to take her to the library. Which he did without even trying to argue with her. There was something in her eyes that startled him. He knew she cared deeply about Stiles, she always had since he’d known her. He knew that she was a force to be reckoned with, he couldn’t _not_ take her there.

By the time they arrived, the area around the library almost felt like a warzone. Four county sheriff cars, two trucks from the fire department, Scott, Kira and Malia pulling in at the same time as them. Liam and Mason come right after them, having received a call from Malia. It all happened fast, barely fifteen minutes had passed since Lydia’s call and their arrival. But the sheriff knew that they could already be too late.

‘What have we got?’ a man from the fire brigade asked as they gathered equipment to bash in the library door.

‘I don’t know yet,’ sheriff Stilinski confessed. ‘Someone called in an accident. My son is in there.’ His voice broke. His gaze found Lydia’s and he rushed towards her, gently placing his hand on her arm. ‘You are sure about this, Lydia?’

The Banshee nodded in shock, her face extremely pale and her lips red. ‘You have to get in now.’

‘You’re sure it’s not a mistake this time?’ He alluded to that one time she was confused by Stiles’ nightmares and sleepwalking.

‘It’s not,’ she spoke determinedly. Her powers became much stronger over the past few months. She was never wrong anymore. He knew that. He had witnessed it.

They pushed against the library door and found themselves unable to open it. The strong doors held back.

‘Break them down,’ the sheriff ordered the fire crew.

‘No, wait.’ Scott pushed himself forward, holding up his library key card. ‘This will help.’

The green light immediately appeared as soon as he slid the card through the slot. Scott opened the door carefully, terrified of what he might find. Visions of Stiles’ dead body lying in the middle of the library appeared before his very eyes. He was terrified, scared to death.

They hadn’t expected to find a pile of steel, wood and dust fallen to the ground. They hadn’t expected the scaffolding to have come down like it had.

‘Oh hell,’ Stilinski muttered as Lydia moved past him and stared at it too. So did everyone else.

_Nobody could survive this._

This is what Lydia had felt. A rumbling sound, falling of pieces, covering someone. But she knew there was still hope, it was not over yet.

‘Stiles is underneath there,’ her voice spoke out firmly, breaking the silence. ‘He’s still alive. I would know it if he were dead.’

‘He can’t be,’ someone mumbled.

‘He is!’ her voice cried out sharply, ‘help him now. Let’s move!’

Scott moved forward, listening intently as he approached the pile. And then he heard it. Stiles’ weak voice, speaking to him, somehow knowing he was there.

‘He’s alive. He’s awake!’ Scott shouted.

That was enough to get the Sheriff into motion. In unison they worked together, people gently removing the iron bars and steel construction remains, pulling at wood that had fallen down in pieces, breaking off.

Stilinski thought his heart would break when they finally reached his son. Stiles lay underneath the pile, miraculously surviving due to a triangle construction that had fallen down first, pushing back the rest of the scaffold. Wooden boards lay on his legs, alongside steel, but the bars weren’t that heavy and his legs weren’t shattered. Others covered his abdomen. The back of his head was hurt and he had a cut on his forehead, but he was alive and relatively alert, his eyes open when they uncovered him. He knew they were coming for him.

But the small, iron bar sticking right through him, shocked them to the core. The bar stood upright, as if it had been coming down from the ceiling itself, impaling him through and through, actually ending up between the cracks of a split floor tile, right into the concrete below it. It would be hell to take that out, to free him.

There was blood, a lot of it, spilled out on the floor, covering Stiles’ back and front, dripping in a steady pace out of him. He had pushed his hands against both wounds, somehow stopping the flow from getting worse, but now they were released, frantically reaching out for help.

Some EMT’s pushed loads of white cloth on both wounds, but the blood just soaked through. Stiles was pale as a sheet, so badly damaged he already looked dead. He just lay there, his eyes wide open as he stared at help coming to rescue him. He had a weak smile on his face, placing all of his trust now into their hands.

The second Stiles seemed to realize he was impaled and could actually see it, he started panicking. The sheriff moved onto his knees immediately, grasping his son’s hand as his professional senses kicked in too and tried to figure out what the hell happened here. That would have to wait for later though.

The here and now is more important. The here and now is getting his son out of here alive. One glance at Lydia betrayed that would be very difficult. Her face showed that Stiles was on the verge of death, barely holding on.

Stilinski is pushed aside by the EMT’s who are now taking control. But that’s not what Stiles needs right now. He needs someone to be with him, to support him.

‘Get it out. Get it out of me, _dad_!’

Stiles screams so loud his entire body shakes from the sheer force of his voice. He tries to reach for the bar, pulling at it. With every single movement he makes, he also shifts the bar inside of him, held in place by his own flesh and muscle. He hisses of pure pain, crying out with such force it shocks everyone in the room.

Sheriff Stilinski immediately returns to his son, grabbing Stiles’ hand tight once more while EMT’s try in unison to force him down too.

‘Stiles, you have to calm down,’ he says firmly. ‘I know it hurts, son, but you can’t move an inch. Every single movement could kill you right now. They have to see what the damage is, okay? You have to let them take a look at you.’

‘I am already dead, aren’t I?’ Stiles whispers back, tears streaming down his shocked face. ‘I’m going to die here.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Stilinski speaks determined. ‘You’ve been through worse. You can do this, son. Just let them do their work.’

Stiles shocks again, hurting his body in the process. He feels so cold, so drained of energy, in such excruciating pain. He’ll never forget this night, if he lives to see another day.

‘Stiles,’ a male EMT says, demanding his attention, placing his gloved hands on top of Stiles’ left wrist and lower arm. ‘My name is Greg. We’re going to take good care of you.  I need to ask you some questions, alright?’

Stiles nods, calmed down by the man’s gentle voice.

‘Just focus on me,’ Greg continues, ‘just like you’re doing right now. Perfect, Stiles. Just breathe in and out, you can do it.’

Stiles quietly does as the man says, allowing strangers to help him while his dad and his closest friends are nearby. He knows they’re watching him and he can’t allow himself to die right in front of them. He _won’t._

‘Can you move your legs?’ Greg asks while another man touches his ankles and feet, moving up as his hands prod his legs from bottom to top, checking for breaks and injuries.

‘Yeah. It hurts.’

‘Good, it’s good that they hurt, Stiles. That means you’re not paralysed. What about your abdomen, do you have any pain there?’

‘Yeah. Rough pain.’ Stiles swallows, his dry throat raw from emotion.

‘It looks like you have some internal bleeding there too, one of the debris fell on you, didn’t it?’

Stiles nods and then hisses when the other EMT reaches his calf.

‘Right leg,’ Stiles mutters, his eyes focused on his dad. ‘My shoulder.’

‘Did something hit them?’ Greg asks troubled.

‘No. Bite.’ Stiles tries to touch his right shoulder, only to cause himself more pain. Immediately his hand moves away as Greg pulls back the fabric covering his calf and then his shoulder, showing two huge marks he has never seen before in his life.

‘Oh my god,’ Scott whispers, glancing over Greg at his damaged shoulder. ‘What the hell is that?’

Stiles’ eyes find his dad’s, his voice breaking. ‘Donovan.’

Instantly the sheriff knows the truth. And so does Scott.

‘Wendigo,’ Scott hears Stiles whisper, so soft that only he can hear it. Then the teenager’s eyes droop and shut, blocking out all thoughts inside his weary mind. Into darkness he goes and there’s nothing he can do about it.

‘Stiles. Stiles!’ Stilinski cries out, trying to wake him.

‘Stiles?’ Greg pats his cheek, trying to shake him back;

Stiles looks up dazed. ‘Yeah. What?’

Greg releases a breath he didn’t know he held. The sheriff bites back his fear, feeling Scott’s firm hand on his shoulder.

‘He’s back,’ Scott just says.

The sheriff nods. But for a brief moment, only a couple of seconds, he knows that his son was completely gone from the world and that he might still lose him.


	5. The Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you again so much for the many positive reactions!

**Chapter 5: The Bite**

'I still don't know what this is.' Greg gently pulls back Stiles' shirt to reveal the aggressive huge bite Donovan has left there. Scott is used to blood and gore, but even his stomach quenches when he sees it. Stiles' head is tilted to the left, so they can take a good look at it. The werewolf scents someone else's odour on the wound.

Sheriff Stilinski knows he can't tell the EMT's the truth, so he lies.

'I don't know,' he says, 'he must have hit something really hard during the fall.'

'The same mark is on his leg,' another EMT points out, gently lifting the fabric that covers Stiles' calf. 'I've never seen anything like it.'

'We'll figure that out at the hospital,' the sheriff states impatiently, trying to get the attention off the supernatural. He knows these people have already seen a lot they can't explain, but he doesn't want Stiles to become the subject of scrutiny. 'All I care about right now, is that thing sticking through his body. We have to get him to the hospital right now. He's bleeding out.'

'We can't pull it out here.' Greg beckons the fire crew team leader closest to him. 'If we pull it out, he might bleed to death before we even reach the hospital. The bar could be pushing against an artery. We need to get him there with the pin still through him. What do you think?'

'Feasible. If we cut out the tile with pin and all, he can be transported to the hospital lying on his side. We can keep the pressure on the entry and exit wounds and move him like that. They'll remove the pin during surgery then. I'm afraid it's going to be a rough surgery though.'

Stiles' eyes open at the sound of the word _hospital._ 'No,' he immediately mutters. 'Home.'

'That's going to be fairly impossible, son,' Greg says soothingly, glad he has Stiles' attention back. 'You need emergency surgery, Stiles. This piece of iron is threatening your life.'

'Don't need doctors, just a bed,' Stiles mumbles dazed, his breath slowing down as he struggles to stay awake, reaching for his father's fingers.

'He's getting delirious,' Greg states troubled. 'He's running a fever too, I'm afraid his body is reacting to the iron inside of him, as if it's a hostile host. If there's rust on it, we could be talking blood poisoning too. We don't have much time left. He needs blood and antibiotics immediately.'

'Can we already start giving them while we free him?' Stilinski asks.

'We can't, it would only make things worse. He's going to be in for a tough ride once we start cutting through the iron,' Greg replies worriedly.

'Cutting?' Stiles' voice reaches a high pitch as he listens to what they say, almost panicking. Stilinski quietly calms his down, placing his hand underneath his son's chin as he concentrates on Stiles.

'I won't leave you, Stiles,' he swears. 'I'll hold your hand while they work on getting you out of this situation and I'll go into that operation theatre with you if I have to. But right now, you need to get this pin out of you, you know that this is the only way.'

'I'm scared, dad.'

Stilinski fights back stress and frustration as he grips his son's hand tight. 'I know, Stiles. I know that you hate hospitals. I know you're afraid. But you'll be fine, I swear. I won't let you go like this.'

'Stiles, I'm going to put an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth, okay?' Greg says, kneeling down again, his calm voice working as a tranquilizer. 'This will help you breathe better. You just concentrate on your breathing and we'll concentrate on getting you out of this situation, okay?'

Stiles nods quietly as Greg gently lifts the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, adjusting it so it fits perfectly. He does feel a bit better after that, the extra air soothing him. But he still aches, still hurts so badly that he just wants it to be over. He whimpers slightly as Scott is by his side, holding his hands on his arm gently, knowing he can't take away the pain as long as the EMT's are up close and watching.

Then Greg and the other man stand up briefly, gathering more equipment. Slowly but quickly Scott pulls out as much pain as he can, feeling Stiles' body relax immediately.

'Thank you,' Stiles whispers, before Greg returns, finding Stiles breathing in and out at a steady pace.

As the EMT's and fire brigade discuss what they need to do, Malia and Lydia are allowed to come closer. Stiles sees both of them together, Lydia protectively placing one arm over Malia's shoulders. Malia doesn't know what to do, she doesn't know how to deal with these kinds of situations. She just knows her heart breaks by the sight of Stiles hurting so much.

'Hey,' she smiles through her tears, 'when I left you behind, I didn't tell you to get into trouble like this.'

He smiles wearily as he grips her hand tight, speaking through the oxygen mask. 'He waited. Waited until I was alone. Would have done it anyway. If not today, some other day.'

'So it was Donovan?'

Stiles nods quietly. 'Tried to eat my legs. Wanted me dead. Pulled a tiny pin out of the scaffold.'

Malia holds her breath as she struggles with her anger. She wants to kill that kid, punish him for what he did to Stiles. Anger and rage surge through her. But she blinks her eyelids and focuses back on the here and now, putting up a brave face for Stiles.

'He won't get away with it.'

Lydia places her hand on Stiles' wrist gently. 'We're all here,' she speaks quietly. 'Stiles, you're not alone.'

'I know,' he whispers. 'It's okay, Lydia. I know I'm not.'

He takes deep breaths, feeling so tired. 'Can I talk to you alone?'

Malia looks hurt for a second, until he realizes he's speaking to her. Lydia stands, hugging Stiles gently, avoiding the pin inside of him. 'If you need me, I'll be right there,' she says to Malia, who smiles at her nervously.

Behind them, the fire department is preparing their next steps, gathering the equipment they'll need to cut through the concrete and not damage Stiles more than he already is. Malia's hand lies warm in his. She leans forward so he alone can hear.

'Do you remember the basement?' he asks quietly.

Malia nods startled.

'You were so beautiful then. You are still so gorgeous now.' Stiles' feverish eyes stare into hers. Shocked she stares back as she blinks away his tears.

'I knew it was going to be you the moment I laid eyes on you.' He coughs, hurting himself in the process. 'You were so amazing. So strong. You have to keep on being strong, Malia, promise me that.'

'You're saying goodbye.'

Stiles smiles, breathing deeply into his mask. The pain is almost unbearable and his body feels every single bit of it.

'You can go on without me,' he whispers. 'You don't need me. You're stronger, better than that. You have to move forward. You're going to be okay.'

'Don't do that,' Malia almost cried out. 'Why are you doing this?'

'Because you are such a good person, Malia. You don't have to fight to prove yourself. You are much stronger when you are _you.'_ Stiles grabs her hand tight. 'Swear you'll be fine. _Promise me_.'

Malia feels tears running down her face. 'I will,' she swears.

As she stands and almost falls into Liam's arms, Stiles looks at Lydia, beckoning her to come closer, sensing he doesn't have much time. His face is ghastly pale by now, all blood drained from it. The EMT's holding pressure against his wounds are whispering to each other. The crew is preparing to cut the bar out from under him, placing their equipment all around him.

His dad stands aside with Parrish helping him. Scott stands unmoving, knowing he can't help right now. Liam is whispering to Mason, both of them shocked by the sight of Stiles. And Lydia kneels by his right shoulder, her hand in his. His fever is running higher now, his eyes larger than ever at the centre of his pale features.

'Don't say goodbye to me,' she pleads. 'You won't go. I won't listen, Stiles.'

'You've come such a long way,' Stiles whispers, stroking the inside of her hand. 'I had such a crush on you since the third grade, did you know that? And you never saw it.'

'But I knew,' she smiles gently. 'I've always known.'

'Did you?'

'Yeah, Stiles. Everyone knew, and I didn't want to accept it. You weren't close to me then, as you are now. You were just a kid. And then it all changed, didn't it?'

Stiles smiles. 'It was the best change of my life, Lydia. You became such a big part of my world, my best friend, next to Scott. I'm so grateful to have you in my life.'

Lydia holds her breath as she listens, knowing he has to say this. 'You are my best friend too. I need you to hold on.'

Stiles closes his eyes as he sighs, his words sometimes barely audible. 'Swear you'll be happy,' he pleads, his warm fingers touching her skin.

'Stiles, my world will fall apart without you,' she whispers. 'I can't live through this. I can't stand by your grave. You have to hold on.'

'You have to move on, you know you can.' Stiles breathes heavily. 'Lydia, you can live for both of us. I need to you do so.'

'Don't talk like that.'

A new sharp pain shoots through Stiles, making him struggle against it. Being pinned to the ground, the bar cuts through the edges of the wounds, sending him almost into oblivion. He closes his eyes, hot tears falling from them.

'Stiles!' Lydia cries out, pushing him down with a hand on top of his chest. 'Sheriff! Greg!'

Greg immediately returns to his position, seeing the teenager's struggle as he tries to grasp a way of blocking out the pain, his hands clawing at something to cling onto. Scott grabs his hand, trying to take away the pain, not caring who sees it. The dark lines disappear under his long sleeves.

'Stiles, what it is?' Greg asks.

'Burning,' he gasps. 'Burning up.'

'Where?'

'Everywhere, inside out.'

Greg places his hand on Stiles' forehead. 'He's burning up, the wound's probably already infected.'

'We're ready,' the fire department chief says, moving his people in place as they push Scott and Lydia backwards.

Stiles cries silently while his father holds his hand.


	6. The Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> see chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly amazed about the many, many reactions to this story. Thank you so much for the support!   
> Three more chapters to go, and things aren't looking that good right now ...

**Chapter 6: The Floor**

'Stiles, listen to me,' Greg says, his gloved hand on the teenager's wrist, trying to get him to see him. 'I'm going to give you a sedative now so you won't feel a thing when they work around you, okay? If you're awake, you'll be in more pain.

'No,' Stiles replies horrified. 'What if I don't wake up?'

'You will, Stiles, I promise,' Greg says. 'You've been brave for so long, now we'll take care of you. You'll fall asleep, like you would for surgery. When you wake up again, it'll be over. You'll be fine. You've fought hard, Stiles, now let us do the fighting for you.'

'No, I'm afraid,' Stiles whispers behind his mask.

'I know, Stiles,' Greg sooths him, 'but you'll live through this. You'll see justice done to who did this to you, I promise.'

'Dad?' Stiles pleads, begging for his dad while the crew places their equipment to start cutting. Greg moves away, preparing the sedative and IV-bag, allowing Stiles a last moment with his father.

'He's right, Stiles. You have to sleep now, or we won't be able to move you, okay?'

'What if I don't see you again?'

'I'm not going anymore, I swear,' Stilinski retorts. 'Stiles, I won't leave you and you won't leave me. You'll be fine.'

'Dad, no, I need to talk to you. To Scott.' Stiles' eyes plead with Greg holding the medical gear. 'Please, I need two more minutes.' Greg gives in, asking the crew to move backwards so Stiles has his private moment.

Stilinski leans forward as Stiles' voice fades away, listening to him intently.

'Dad, I'm sorry about everything.'

'You have nothing to be sorry about, Stiles, what the hell are you talking about?'

'I screw up dinner so much, I was a lousy cook. I should have taken more care of you, more often. I lied when you didn't know about – you know? I'm sorry about the void, I was too weak to stop it.' Stiles stops and breaths in heavily. 'I'm sorry that I won't get more time with you.'

Alarmed Stilinski gently embraces his son, feeling Stiles' too warm features lingering against him. 'Stiles, you're my son, you're all I have in this world and I'm so proud of you. You're the strongest person I know and I'm the one who should be saying sorry. This is all my fault. I should have stopped Donovan. He did this because of _me_. You've fought so hard, all the time. I don't want you to give up now.'

'I'm proud of you, dad,' Stiles whispers. 'You are my hero.'

The sheriff holds his breath as he stares into Stiles' feverish eyes. 'I love you, son.'

'I love you too, dad.'

Stilinski reluctantly pulls back as Greg puts his hand on his shoulder. Then he stares at Scott who stands there unmoving, unable to react as he knows what Stiles is doing.

'Scott.' Stiles' hand reaches for his best friend. The werewolf sinks on his knees, placing his hand on Stiles' wrist again, as he tries to take away some of the pain. He can't help but stare at cause of all of this, the bar challenging him, screaming at him.

'Stiles, you need to go to sleep now,' Greg says.

'I know,' Stiles whispers, his eyes on Scott. 'I just want to say that, what happened to you, was the best thing that happened to me too. Don't feel guilty, this is not your fault.'

'You deserved a normal life,' Scott softly, gently whispers.

'But I had one. Apart from some weird situations.' Stiles suddenly grins. 'We had a great ride, didn't we?'

'And you'll have one again,' Scott persists. 'Stop talking like that, Stiles.'

'Stiles, it's time.'

Stiles nods quietly, holding onto Scott's hand for as long as he can. 'I love you, man.'

'I love you too, dude.'

Surrounded by Stiles' friends and father, Greg inserts an IV and then a sedative that works very quickly. They watch as his eyes droop while his body instinctively fights against the dizziness. The next moment, Stiles feels the world collapse around him, slowly sinking away into darkness.

'We'll see you later,' his dad vows before his eyes shut for the final time.

Then the small group is pulled gently backwards, standing at a distance as the fire department works around Stiles' unconscious form. They saw off the top of the bar and then work quick and efficiently around Stiles' sleeping form, tilting him carefully so they can force the bar out of the concrete which holds it in place.

As soon as it's forced free, a group of people gently turn Stiles on his side, gasping at the blood that left his body already. Two men keep the bar in place as they tilt him, others wrap bandages around the wounds. Carefully they lift Stiles on his side on a gurney, monitoring every single movement and motion he makes as they take him away. He's never aware of what's happening.

Very carefully, Stiles is loaded into an ambulance, his body still lying on his side, with the bar still sticking right through him. His father stays with him at all times, watching his extremely pale son breathe in and out below his oxygen mask, his features even in darkness filled with pain.

At the library, Parrish takes charge and has photos of the crime scene taken. Then he kneels and touches thick paddings, covered in blood that remained behind. Quietly he turns to his side, finding the pack staring at the ruined floor.

Then Malia bursts into tears, covering her face.

'We're going to lose him,' she says hoarsely.

'No, we're not,' Scott reacts, almost angrily. 'Not like this, not now. He held on so far, he'll continue to hold on.'

But the sight of the blood-soaked paddings tells a different story.


	7. Surgery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very, very much for your amazing comments and following of this story! I'm truly in awe at so many positive comments. THANK YOU!

**Chapter 7: The Surgery**

At the hospital, Melissa is waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Shocked she stares at Stiles' tremendously pale features, lying on the gurney as if he's already dead. He hasn't moved since they sedated him. Greg has been monitoring his vitals, giving the latest update as they wheel the teenager into a room.

'Heart rate and blood pressure are way too low, he lost a lot of blood. I'm afraid the bar is rusty and might poison him from the inside. Fever is spiking.' Melissa barely listens as they go to work on Stiles. She cuts open his clothes and covers him with a sheet, careful not to touch the impaled area, but protecting him nonetheless. He shivers from cold and fever, even in his unconsciousness.

She closes her eyes for a brief moment, realizing what has been done to him. She can hardly wrap her mind around the aggression, the pure hatred that caused this.

Stilinski stands in the corner of the room, watching them work on him. Then Stiles is wheeled out of the room, straight towards an OR. He follows them as far as he can, until doors almost slam into his face.

'Come with me,' Melissa says gently as she turns him around and takes him with her to the waiting area. Stilinski eyes her wearily, blinking his eyelids as if he realizes only then that she's there. She sits him down on a plastic chair and pushes a cup of foul tasting coffee in his shaking hands. He has blood all over him, staring at his own hands as if they belong to a stranger.

'He's going to die, isn't he?' The sheriff looks up, as if he's stating a fact.

'No, he's not,' Melissa speaks determinedly. 'He's got a fantastic surgeon working on him. He'll make it, but it'll be a tough ride, John. I won't deny that.'

The sheriff sighs deeply, rubbing his sweaty forehead, stopping when he realizes he has Stiles' blood on his hands. He bursts into tears. 'He's my boy, Melissa, the only thing I have left in this world. How am I supposed to be strong now? How could this have happened? It was just a matter of time before it did though, wasn't it? That's the price we pay for allowing our kids to live in this damned town.'

'You don't have to be,' she whispers gently, holding him tight. 'And you are not alone either.' She nods at the door, seeing Scott and his pack entering. Stilinski stands, staring at Stiles' best friends. Then they are around him like a warm blanket, hugging him tight, all at once, as if they know he so badly needs it. John feels his heart lift at the presence and care of the teenagers who have such a warm heart for Stiles. He's heard what Stiles said to Scott. He doesn't regret a single moment. 

Despite his often upset that his son is involved in things that are way beyond him, a human surrounded by supernatural powers that also unintentionally endanger him, he wouldn't change this group for anything else in the world. Just like Stiles wouldn't. This is where they belong, what their task in life is. Stiles needs to help protect this town, he's made for this.

It's Lydia who breaks the silence as her face tilts and her hoarse voice only slightly quivers as she speaks. 'He's not going to die today, I can feel it. But it will be close, very close.'

Stilinski cups her face between his hands, smiling sadly. 'I know,' he whispers. 'And I would have given anything to be in his shoes right now.'

In the operating room, a team of specialized surgeons work hours on removing the bar from Stiles' body.

A night of waiting has begun for them all.

Hours later, as the sun rises and the group has fallen asleep on the plastic chairs, the surgeon tiredly comes to find them and tells them Stiles made it through surgery. A sigh of relief goes like a wind through the room.

'It was touch and go there for a while. We lost him a few times. As soon as we removed the bar, his body immediately went into cardiac arrest. The bar had been pushing against an artery, fortunately not protruding it, or he would have bled out in seconds. But as soon as we removed it, the pressure was released on the artery and his heart went into overdrive, trying to stabilize its rate. We've got him stabilized, but had to remove his spleen. There is some kidney damage but I think we can keep that under control. He'll be moved to the ICU for at a couple of days to monitor his vitals. He has lost a huge amount of blood due to internal and external bleeding, so we're replacing that. We're also pushing antibiotics into him. He has a high fever, due to possible iron poisoning from the rusty bar.'

The surgeon sighs. 'He's not out of the woods yet, I'm afraid. It'll be a tough ride for the next few days, but I'm hopeful he'll pull through. He's in good condition, a very strong young man.'

'Can we see him?' Lydia asks.

'Just one person, for a few moments,' the surgeon agrees. 'He's very heavily sedated and will be out of it for some time. He won't know you're there.'

'You go,' Melissa tells the sheriff who immediately follows the surgeon to recover, where he finds his extremely pale son hooked on machines. Stiles is on a respirator. Several bags drip fluids inside of him, while machines are checking his vitals. He lies very quiet in the bed, his face as pale as the sheets covering him. Too quiet for Stiles. A nurse stands by his bed, monitoring him all the time.

'You have a strong boy there, sheriff,' she smiles encouragingly. 'We'll move him to ICU shortly.'

'Thank you,' John mumbles as he sits down by his son's side, gently touching his warm fingers. Stiles' skin is sticky with fever. His entire torso is wrapped up in bandages, the sheriff could tell underneath the gown. He touches Stiles' chest gently, feeling heat radiate from below the fabric. Stiles doesn't stir as he touches him.

'You made it, son,' the sheriff whispers, kissing the top of his son's hand. 'I knew you would.'

For one brief, clear moment, Stiles opens his eyes and stares at his dad, understanding perfectly what he is trying to say. His fingers reach out for his dad's grip, but he doesn't try to speak, doesn't fight the respirator down his throat. He feels the presence of them all, his friends and family, the ones who came to the hospital after they helped save him, to check up on him. Greg, he has been sitting in the hallway, waiting for more news on him.

Then his eyes open wider, as his mind recalls Donovan. 

'I swear I'll get him,' the sheriff swears right there and then, understanding his son's fear at once, calming him down with the touch of his hand.

'Stiles, he will never harm you again. I swear this is not the end of it. He will be punished for what he did you to. But you don't need to focus on that right now. I will take that burden off your shoulders. All that counts, is you.'

Stiles' eyes follow his dad, before they droop and shut. Gently Stilinski places his son's hand back on the sheets and sits with him as long as he's allowed to, finally falling asleep when the sun comes up.


	8. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say how much in awe I am of the many followers, kudos, comments and so much more I received about this story. Thank you so much!!  
> If you enjoyed it, I'd appreciate a final comment to let me know. Thank you!

After the first time he opens his eyes, Stiles remains unconscious, both on his own account and due to the medication they've been feeding him. His body is struggling against the fever caused by the iron bar that remained lodged inside of him for far too long. Apart from that, he needs time to recover, to allow his body to heal, and without his spleen, that takes longer.

Swabs have been taken of the two strange wounds on his lower leg and shoulder. A lab came back with unexplained results, a mixture of saliva and human sweat that they couldn't account for. Melissa took out the lab results and gave them to Stiles' dad, who keeps them in his office, as part of the Chimera-case.

Determined to find Donovan before he harms anyone else, Stilinski is set to find the kid as soon as possible, but his loyalties lie with Stiles first and he has guards at Stiles' door, watching and checking everyone who comes in and out. His greatest fear is that Donovan will come to the hospital to finish what he started. He's convinced that he will do so as soon as he finds the opportunity.

Parrish is tracking Donovan down together with Scott, only to realize he seems to have vanished off the face of the earth. Or, more likely, he returned to the Dread Doctors and is hiding in their lair.

While deputies watch him, Stiles sleeps, unaware of everything that's been going on after the attack. The day becomes night again, night is replaced by daytime. Still he won't wake up.

The days that follow are a blur in the minds of Scott and his pack. They have to go to school and pretend everything's fine, but Scott's mind goes haywire. He doesn't remember what is being said in class, what he's supposed to learn. It all blurs together in one big giant cloud of confusion. He tries to concentrate, hoping time will go by faster, but it feels so useless at the same time.

His mom told him she would call the minute she knew more, and that's the only reason why he stays put. They decided among themselves that one of them would stay at the hospital with the sheriff, making sure he was taking care of himself too and had some time to shower, eat or distract himself. The teachers are lenient with the group of friends, as everyone knows what is going on what Stiles.

The school thinks Stiles had a freak accident after an argument with another kid who deliberately pulled down the scaffolding on top of him. They know he was impaled, that he has miraculously survived but is still fighting for his life. They gather at the library to see the broken tiles, the blood nobody seems to be able to wipe off, the broken down scaffold no one has rebuilt yet.

They know he's still in ICU and not progressing as rapidly as the doctors would like to see. And so they sign get well-cards and sit down together, discussing the events. Everyone knows Stiles, even if he feels he's a geek who isn't that popular. In the end, it turns out everyone's rooting for him.

Their classmates avoid Scott and his friends, knowing that they wouldn't be able to deal with anything else right now. They write out assignments for them and for Stiles, hoping to be able the give them to him.

The Chimera's are forgotten for now, even though Parrish is still working on the case while the sheriff is at the hospital, never further away than five minutes from his son's bed. John can't work right now, even though he thought he could. He's unable to focus on anything but his son who looks like he's getting thinner by the minute. The sheriff too has hardly eaten and feels terrible. It takes him all the courage in the world to leave his son for five minutes.

Scott finally comes in right after school and sends him away, helped by Melissa, to go clean up. He does reluctantly. After that, Melissa feeds him a dinner in a small family-owned restaurant nearby, where he chews on a steak without tasting it. He wants to return as soon as possible, shoving down his food with the speed of a horse, watched intently by Melissa. She finally places her hand on his wrist and tells him that he's not alone, that he should talk to someone.

That makes him burst into tears, right there in the center of the restaurant, his plate half empty.

Melissa waits until he's calm. Then she takes him back to Stiles, who still sleeps quietly, in the center of his friends who have all come and are now doing their homework by his side, talking out loud as they make it. Later on, as night falls, Scott and Liam leave, prowling for Donovan.

On the fourth day, Stiles hasn't woken up. His damaged body fights against bacteria and infection, struggling hard to win the battle against death. They switch to another set of antibiotics. He's still on a respirator, still running spiking fevers, still battling the results of that bar sticking through him. He went into cardiac arrest three times over the past day, causing Stilinski to freak out.

Still, Scott, Malia, Liam or Lydia can't focus on their classes. They are focusing on getting the hell out of school as quickly as possible, to rush to the hospital and see Stiles. Every single spare moment they have, the entire group rushes to Beacon Memorial, only to hear nothing has changed and he's still not out of the woods.

Theo inquires about Stiles, showing his concern as he learns what happened. Scott often talks to him, telling him things he can't tell the others. About how he can't afford to lose Stiles, how he's a brother to him, how he doesn't know how to talk to the sheriff and tell him he feels it's his fault. Theo gives advice and stands back, watching events unfold, knowing exactly where Donovan is. He never tells anyone he was at the library too.

On the fifth day after the attack, Parrish finally finds Donovan. The boy is hiding out in local bars, drinking too much, paying too much for his drinks. He is distressed, alone and very much afraid. He speaks during drunken stupors about crazy scientists who drove him out of his mind, about the anger building inside of him until it destroyed everything. Then he's recognized by a local, who saw the sheriff's call for information.

By the time a crew arrives at the bar, Donovan is standing on the rooftop of the building, looking out over the town. As Parrish arrives and goes up the roof to talk to him, Donovan half turns around, staring at the deputy while he smiles.

'I wanted to know what his legs would taste like,' the wendigo snorts. 'He's the son of a bastard. The sheriff deserved to know what it feels like to watch life whither away. I hope he dies a gruesome, painful death. I hope he suffers. I hope he goes to hell.'

Donovan jumps before Parrish can stop him. He smashes down on a steel fence behind the bar, ironically enough impaling himself in the process, just like he did to Stiles. Only, he never stood a chance, as the steel pierced his heart.

When Parrish calls the sheriff to tell him the news, Stilinski's emotions are a mixture of relief and upset. He didn't want the boy dead. He wanted to let him know that he forgave him for what he did, that it was not his fault in the end.

But, as he turns around to look at his unconscious son, he forgets all about Donovan. Stiles' eyes are open and staring right at him. For one long second, the sheriff thinks Stiles is gone, that he died at the exact same time as Donovan did, their lives entwined somehow. Until he blinks a few times and automatically tries to fight against the respirator down his throat. This time, he wants it out and he's determined to do so.

The sheriff calls out for help and focuses on Stiles, grabbing his hand tight as he places one hand under his son's chin and forces him to look at him. Immediately he feels that Stiles' fever has broken. He's going to be fine. Stilinski sways on his feet, almost passing out at the relief. Then strong hands support his back. Without turning around, he knows Scott is holding him tight, arriving just in time to watch the miracle. And he's not alone. The entire group is there, scattering around the room to see Stiles' eyes open.

'You're alright,' Stilinski soothes his son. 'Stiles, you're back, you're okay, you're alive. We're all here, you're going to be fine.'

Stiles immediately calms down, tears sliding down his cheeks as he realizes he made it. After the respirator is removed and Stiles is checked by his doctors, the group is allowed inside the room, all staring at him as if he came back from the dead. Which he pretty much did.

Stiles is very quiet while they speak gently, all too emotional to speak much. Explanations are not needed. Stilinski has told him Donovan is dead and won't bother him ever again. Stiles took the news calmly, accepting it.

As he leans against the pillows, watching them all, he remembers those horrible moments at the library, when he thought he was going to die alone. He remembers humming the numbers and then the songs. He remembers what his blood smelt like and wonders what it must have been like for all of them, to smell it a thousand times stronger.

And he remembers what he has said to them, how he has expressed his goodbyes. He knows it bothers them that he did that. He sees it in their eyes, when they sit by his side, not knowing what to say about it. Now, as they surround him, so very grateful he's still among them, Stiles tiredly scrapes his throat, causing them to stare at him, happy to hear his voice again.

'I don't regret saying goodbye,' his voice rasps. 'I wanted to say it a long time ago, when - Well, you know. When we all knew I was dying the first time.'

'Why?' Scott asks gently.

'Why not?' Stiles looks up. 'Our lives here could be over any day, any time. I don't want to go without letting you know how I feel about you. So now you know and I never have to say it again.'

Malia comes closer, taking his hand and keeping it against her cheek. Her dark brown eyes look up at him as she leans over and kisses him. Lydia stands by his other side, gently placing her hand on his shoulder, her eyes open and compassionate, her gaze full of understanding. He knows she saved his life somehow because of her ability and he's grateful for her. She smiles back.

Kira just smiles and holds onto Scott, happy that Stiles made it. Liam's eyes are filled with tears but he refuses to show, as he sits next to Mason, who also came to see Stiles.

'All is as it should be,' Kira slowly says.

Then Scott looks Stiles in the eyes. 'Yes, we often go through hell and back,' he says quietly, 'but not at the risk of your life. That's not what I want. If that's the price we have to pay, I don't want it.'

Stiles smiles. 'Sometimes you don't have a choice, Scott.'

'But we do!'

'No, we don't. This is what we are supposed to do, who we are. If you quit now, the enemy will win.'

'Maybe they already have,' Scott speaks quietly.

'No, they won't. Not if we have each other's backs,' Lydia says.

Stiles leans tiredly back in his pillows and closes his eyes. 'I love you all,' he whispers.

Finally, he falls asleep with all of them by his side, knowing that, whatever happens, or whatever is still to come in Beacon Hills, he can and will pull through, with their help. They all will.

The End


End file.
